Pocket Watch
Title: Pocket Watch
Author: Capt_Facepalm
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Gaslight)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Wiggins, Dr John H Watson
Rating: PG
Summary:
Word Count: 803
Author's Notes: (Unbeta'ed) This is about the watch Dr Watson had when he returned from Afghanistan, not the one he received in SIGN.
.oOOo.
April 1881
Sherlock Holmes finished the melancholy refrain before placing his violin back in its case. He turned his eyes to his solitary guest, a young street urchin who he often used to deliver messages or gather intelligence of London’s lower society. The boy shifted from one foot to the other in agitation under the detective’s grim scrutiny. Finally, Holmes broke the silence.
‘Wiggins, I’d appreciate it very much if you would return Dr Watson’s pocket watch to me.’
The astonished boy blanched.
‘What do you mean, Mr Holmes? I… I don’t have no watch of any kind.’
‘Nevertheless. It is hardly a coincidence that the Doctor noticed his watch was missing shortly after you and the Irregulars invaded our flat last week. He thinks he misplaced it, and has not yet hit upon a more plausible explanation.’
‘Is he in now?’ the boy asked in a low voice.
‘No. I sent him on an errand. He will be gone for the rest of the day. I want the watch back before he returns. If not, our dealings are finished. Is this understood?’
‘Yessir, Mr Holmes!’ Wiggins said as he dashed for the door.
.oOOo.
Dr John Watson returned to their Baker Street flat in time for late supper. His step was slower and more careful than usual and he let out a sigh as he arranged himself in his armchair. After a few desultory attempts to finish his meal he pushed his plate aside and regarded his flatmate.
Holmes drummed his fingers on the windowsill as he gazed down on the street, unlit pipe clenched in his teeth.
“Did you say something, Doctor?’
‘I said, it feels like rain. You seem distracted. Is something the matter?’
‘Nothing important. I was expecting a message by now,’ he said closing the window tightly against the rain which had started to fall.
‘I will bid you ‘goodnight’ then,’ Watson said as he rose to retire upstairs to bed.
Holmes replied with a nondescript grunt and picked up his violin. He needed to play something angry, or perhaps Russian, but was mindful of his flatmate’s fatigue. As he regarded his instrument in frustration, he heard the faint sounds of pebbles thrown at the window. Parting the curtains, Holmes confirmed the source and descended the stairs to the front door.
‘Wiggins, you are late.’
‘I’m so sorry, sir. I’ve been chasing this all over London,’ the soaked street arab replied, pulling from his innermost and driest pocket, a handkerchief containing an old pocket watch.
Holmes said nothing as he wiped the watch and returned the handkerchief to Wiggins. The boy watched as the detective performed a cursory examination on the battered timepiece.
‘Mr Holmes, it was broken already, I swear! The boy what took it couldn’t even hock it. It’s worthless!’
‘I doubt that Dr Watson feels that way,’ Holmes snapped.
Wiggins bowed his head and muttered another apology.
‘Wiggins, this is a serious breach of trust. I will not tell the doctor what happened here. He does not need to share my disappointment. But, if you or anyone of your band ever steal from me or Dr Watson again, then our commerce is finished, forever. Is that understood?’
‘Yessir! I am sorry, sir. Truly,’ he added as he stepped back out into the rain.
.oOOo.
The next morning found Holmes slouched against the wall near the window. He was chasing a light melody with his violin when the doctor finally reappeared. He acknowledged his flatmate with a nod but continued to play on, breaking only to capture the one note that eluded him.
‘Good morning, Holmes,’ Watson said as he eased himself into his chair at their breakfast table. 'I hope you are not planning to send me out again today. I am worn out from yesterday’s errands.’
Holmes set the violin aside.
‘No Watson, I’ve reviewed your notes. Very thorough, I must say. Tracking down those back-issues saved me from hours of tedious legwork and even gave me a moment or two to consider your recent little mystery.
‘Et voilà!’ Holmes indicated with a flourish of his bow to the old pocket watch laid out on the doctor’s writing desk.
‘Wherever did you find it? I searched everywhere,’ Watson exclaimed, his earlier weariness all but abandoned.
‘My dear fellow, it was in the pocket of my dressing gown. I sincerely apologise, because for the life of me, I cannot remember picking it up.’
‘Please don’t concern yourself over it! I must have left it somewhere in your way. All that matters is that I have it back and I will be more mindful of it in the future,’ he said securing it to his waistcoat with great care.
.oOOo.
Please sign the guestbook
Author: Capt_Facepalm
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Gaslight)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Wiggins, Dr John H Watson
Rating: PG
Summary:
Word Count: 803
Author's Notes: (Unbeta'ed) This is about the watch Dr Watson had when he returned from Afghanistan, not the one he received in SIGN.
.oOOo.
April 1881
Sherlock Holmes finished the melancholy refrain before placing his violin back in its case. He turned his eyes to his solitary guest, a young street urchin who he often used to deliver messages or gather intelligence of London’s lower society. The boy shifted from one foot to the other in agitation under the detective’s grim scrutiny. Finally, Holmes broke the silence.
‘Wiggins, I’d appreciate it very much if you would return Dr Watson’s pocket watch to me.’
The astonished boy blanched.
‘What do you mean, Mr Holmes? I… I don’t have no watch of any kind.’
‘Nevertheless. It is hardly a coincidence that the Doctor noticed his watch was missing shortly after you and the Irregulars invaded our flat last week. He thinks he misplaced it, and has not yet hit upon a more plausible explanation.’
‘Is he in now?’ the boy asked in a low voice.
‘No. I sent him on an errand. He will be gone for the rest of the day. I want the watch back before he returns. If not, our dealings are finished. Is this understood?’
‘Yessir, Mr Holmes!’ Wiggins said as he dashed for the door.
.oOOo.
Dr John Watson returned to their Baker Street flat in time for late supper. His step was slower and more careful than usual and he let out a sigh as he arranged himself in his armchair. After a few desultory attempts to finish his meal he pushed his plate aside and regarded his flatmate.
Holmes drummed his fingers on the windowsill as he gazed down on the street, unlit pipe clenched in his teeth.
“Did you say something, Doctor?’
‘I said, it feels like rain. You seem distracted. Is something the matter?’
‘Nothing important. I was expecting a message by now,’ he said closing the window tightly against the rain which had started to fall.
‘I will bid you ‘goodnight’ then,’ Watson said as he rose to retire upstairs to bed.
Holmes replied with a nondescript grunt and picked up his violin. He needed to play something angry, or perhaps Russian, but was mindful of his flatmate’s fatigue. As he regarded his instrument in frustration, he heard the faint sounds of pebbles thrown at the window. Parting the curtains, Holmes confirmed the source and descended the stairs to the front door.
‘Wiggins, you are late.’
‘I’m so sorry, sir. I’ve been chasing this all over London,’ the soaked street arab replied, pulling from his innermost and driest pocket, a handkerchief containing an old pocket watch.
Holmes said nothing as he wiped the watch and returned the handkerchief to Wiggins. The boy watched as the detective performed a cursory examination on the battered timepiece.
‘Mr Holmes, it was broken already, I swear! The boy what took it couldn’t even hock it. It’s worthless!’
‘I doubt that Dr Watson feels that way,’ Holmes snapped.
Wiggins bowed his head and muttered another apology.
‘Wiggins, this is a serious breach of trust. I will not tell the doctor what happened here. He does not need to share my disappointment. But, if you or anyone of your band ever steal from me or Dr Watson again, then our commerce is finished, forever. Is that understood?’
‘Yessir! I am sorry, sir. Truly,’ he added as he stepped back out into the rain.
.oOOo.
The next morning found Holmes slouched against the wall near the window. He was chasing a light melody with his violin when the doctor finally reappeared. He acknowledged his flatmate with a nod but continued to play on, breaking only to capture the one note that eluded him.
‘Good morning, Holmes,’ Watson said as he eased himself into his chair at their breakfast table. 'I hope you are not planning to send me out again today. I am worn out from yesterday’s errands.’
Holmes set the violin aside.
‘No Watson, I’ve reviewed your notes. Very thorough, I must say. Tracking down those back-issues saved me from hours of tedious legwork and even gave me a moment or two to consider your recent little mystery.
‘Et voilà!’ Holmes indicated with a flourish of his bow to the old pocket watch laid out on the doctor’s writing desk.
‘Wherever did you find it? I searched everywhere,’ Watson exclaimed, his earlier weariness all but abandoned.
‘My dear fellow, it was in the pocket of my dressing gown. I sincerely apologise, because for the life of me, I cannot remember picking it up.’
‘Please don’t concern yourself over it! I must have left it somewhere in your way. All that matters is that I have it back and I will be more mindful of it in the future,’ he said securing it to his waistcoat with great care.
.oOOo.
Please sign the guestbook